Microstory 2570: Head of Pharmaceuticals

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

People ask me why I’m doing it. Why would I invest hundreds of millions of dollars into developing a panacea when “there’s more money to be made in the treatment”? To be clear, that’s actually a low number for developing even a single drug, and that’s because we were coming at it with a huge advantage of having a source for the cure, instead of having to start from scratch. So that was one reason why we calculated that it was worth it. Number one after that is that my name will go down into the history books as the woman who provided the world with the greatest accomplishment humanity has ever achieved. Of course, Landis will be at the top of the list, but no one’s going to remember his nurse, or one of his patients. He cured millions. I’ll cure billions. And I’ll keep doing it over and over again. We’re not sure if this drug will grant virtual immortality, but honestly, I don’t see why not. And if it doesn’t, we’ll work on that too. And we’ll be able to do that, because at that point, we’ll be the only pharmaceutical company left in existence. The other ones, who only ever hoped to sell treatments, will become obsolete, almost literally overnight. Unless they diversified into selling diagnostic equipment—or, I don’t know, something unrelated, like microwaves—they’re destined to have a bad time. Their stock prices are already tanking in anticipation for an announcement that we’ve made a breakthrough. People are actually saving money that they would usually spend on medicine, because they think we’re preparing to send them a fix tomorrow. Well, I can’t condone such behavior. Time is a huge factor here. They’re close—my researchers are close—and I have been funneling a lot of the money dedicated to this endeavor into bolstering mass production, but we’re not there yet. My competitors want to get in on this, and we will agree to that, because it will help with rollout, but I have demands, and it all has to do with what I said; keeping my name at the top. I curated the relationship with the Foundation. I made Mr. Tipton promises. I’m in charge here, and if that slows down production, then so be it. People will wait for months, because some have been waiting their whole lives, and humanity has been waiting for thousands of years—at the risk of being too specific. Pharmaceutical companies are known for being greedy and uncaring, and I’m not going to sit here and try to tell you that it isn’t true. We charge too much for insulin. We make our customers jump through hoops. We didn’t make the industry the way it is today (not alone, anyway) but I admit some fault. So in the end, that’s why I’m doing this. My competitors’ reputations are set. Nothing can be done to show them in a better light, except maybe if they get in line, and help with production in the right way. But no one will remember what we used to be. Once the panacea comes out, with our label on every single inhaler, that’s what we’ll be known for. And the world will be grateful. For us.

Extremus: Year 119

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

Decades ago, Tinaya and Arqut connected their lives together through a lifelink. When one of them gets hurt, so too will the other. They weren’t sure if the procedure had worked, because it wasn’t always reliable. There were times when one was sick, and the other was not. It was never really the point, though. This is why they did it. They have just died at the exact same time, which is rare on this ship. Everything that they were dealing with—all the trials and tribulations—it’s all behind them now. Their son is technically older than them, and this isn’t the first time that he had to say goodbye to his parents. Silveon will be okay without them, armed with his memory of future events, and a lifetime’s worth of knowledge and wisdom. He and Audrey bid farewell and let them go, as did everyone else here who deserved it. Now they can move on. Now they can finally rest.

There is one thing left to do, however. It is time to answer The Question. Tinaya has known about it for many years, and eventually told her family. It’s a secret from just about everyone else, though. It violates a major principle of the Extremus mission, but again, they have known about it for so long, they’ve had plenty of time to come to terms with it. There is no way to know how many people answer yes, and how many answer no, because it should come as a surprise for most. At the moment of their deaths, Tinaya and Arqut’s consciousnesses were uploaded to a special server. If they agree, their minds will be put on ice for another century, until the Extremus planet is reached by their descendants. When it comes time to settle their new homeworld, everyone who answered yes will be downloaded into new substrates, and become part of the colonists. If the two of them were normal, it would feel instantaneous to them—assuming nothing destroyed the ship in the meantime. But they’re on a different track. When they say yes, they will be going somewhere else.

“Hello, and welcome to The Buffer,” a woman says warmly.

They were standing in the Attic Forest, though obviously a virtual simulation of it. The two recently deceased are now young again, which makes sense, and feels nice.

“Does everyone come to this place?” Tinaya asks. “The forest hasn’t always existed.”

The welcomer smiles. “You were clearly prepped beforehand, so I will skip the usual explanation. To answer your question, the simulation scans your thoughts, and generates what it believes will be the most pleasant and comforting place for you specifically. For most people, it looks something like this, as we all wish to find Extremus. For you, it sounds like it’s more specific. I hope it pleases the both of you. We don’t get many duos. I’m guessing it’s a lifelink?”

“Yes, and I helped build this place for real in base reality, as did my now-husband,” Tinaya explains, “so it’s important to us both.”

“Ah, yes. I have heard of you. Miss Leithe, right?”

“Admiral Emerita Leithe.” Tinaya doesn’t usually care about formalities, but it felt important to her to clarify her title in this case.

“Apologies. And you?”

“Superintendent Arqut Grieves. You didn’t know that we were coming?”

The woman shakes her head. Her voice is still calming. “I do not receive a manifest beforehand, or even an alert of a forthcoming arrival. My job is to ask you The Question without judgement or preconception. It doesn’t matter to me who you are, or who you were. You’re entitled to answer.”

“Who are you?” Tinaya asks, “Or, who were you, if you prefer?”

“I am Dr. Itri Meziani, thanks for asking,” she replies. “I was the Executive Grief Counselor many years ago.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Meziani.” Tinaya shakes her hand, then Arqut does.

“I suppose that you already know what I’m about to ask you, but I still must ask it,” Dr. Meziani says.

For a long time there, Tinaya intended on saying no to The Question. She only changed her mind relatively recently when Thistle showed her that her whole family line has been kept alive in base reality on an asteroid which Tinaya herself colonized and called Eleithium. It gave her some perspective. She doesn’t wanna die. The problem now is that Thistle is no longer the AI in charge, and they don’t know whether they will be rerouted to the colony, or just kept on ice with everyone else. Did he set it up so that it will happen automatically? Truthfully, she forgot to ask him before Oceanus stopped allowing their visits. Do they have to be honest with this Dr. Meziani about their sort of get out of jail free card? In the end, they decided to just come clean and tell the truth. They can’t risk something going wrong with the process. If it doesn’t work, they’ll just go on ice, and still be alive. All they know is that they’re not going to say no. They really want to see the Extremus planet, and they almost have to see Silveon again.

“We have somewhere else to be,” Arqut begins. “A friend of ours set up...an alternative option. I’m not sure how we go about getting there, though. He’s sort of...indisposed at the moment.”

“I can check for a rerouting subroutine,” Dr. Meziani says graciously, “but I can’t guarantee anything. If your friend can’t control it from the outside, I can’t get you there. It wouldn’t be that I wouldn’t want to. Again, it’s not my job to make judgments. You don’t have to do anything in particular. Hell, if you can will yourself back to life in your own body, go for it. But understand that there is a time limit. I can’t tell you what it is. It’s after five minutes following the next death, so that could be any second now. The Buffer must be kept open.” She looks to the left, presumably searching for the path that will take them to Eleithium, and hopefully finding it. She suddenly jerks her head to the right. “Something’s wrong.”

“What is it? Did you find it?” Arqut asks.

“Your time is up,” Dr. Meziana tells them. “Someone else just died.”

“But we have five more minutes,” Tinaya reminds her.

“No.” She starts breathing heavily, which doesn’t make sense given that there’s no air in this virtual environment. “You don’t.” Without warning, she pops away, leaving a faint puff of smoke behind.

A shadow appears in the trees in the distance. It’s moving in an eerie serpentine pattern, but drawing nearer. As it does so, its silhouette becomes clearer and clearer. Finally, it looks like a person, and soon after that, it looks like someone they know.

“Pronastus?” Tinaya questions. “You died?”

“Just for a few minutes,” Pronastus says in a weird tone that doesn’t really sound like him. “The flatline device that I found will revive me in about six minutes.”

“Did you have something to tell us?” Arqut presses.

“Or ask us?” Tinaya adds.

“You gave me the ability to do this,” Pronastus goes on. “You’re the one who helped me find the consciousness transference technology that I needed to hack in here. I was looking for it, but I could not find it, because it was for me. I can’t do anything for myself. I have to be searching for someone else. Fortunately, you never realized just how close you were to it. For reference, it was in a closet, in the first Frontrunner you teleported to; the one where you met AI!Elder.”

Oh, right. AI!Elder did say that there was a cool helmet in there. She should not have ignored that quip. “So you’re, uh...evil...errr...what’s goin’ on here?”

“What’s going on is that I am sick of doing everything for everyone else. I found a workaround, and it’s thanks to that helmet. Coming here was a necessary latent step, but not my endgame. I’m going to send my mind to another body. Bonus, I get to keep my pathfinding powers, and finally use them for myself!”

“What do we have to do with any of that?” Arqut spits.

“You know me,” Pronastus reasons. “You know me better than anyone. Others know that I’m a pathfinder, of course, but they don’t understand it. When Captain Jennings dies, I’ll have to make sure that he also answers no. I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry about Silveon. He’s too preoccupied with his own life, I don’t feel threatened by him, so I don’t care what answer he gives when he dies. However, if any of you put yourselves on ice, and come back in a hundred years, you’ll see right through my disguise. I have long-term plans. Running the ship is just the first part of it. I don’t plan on ever dying, because that’s a retarded provision that our ancestors never should have decided upon or agreed to.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that word.”

“That’s your issue? I’m about to straight up murder you, and you’re arguing with me about political correctness?”

“We’re not too worried,” Tinaya explains. “Tyrants like you and Waldemar always create their own resistance. It’s not gonna last. You may be a pathfinder, but eventually, you will run out of paths that lead you to joy. You’ll always want more, and it will be your downfall. Extremus will get through this. It suffered but survived Consul Vatal, and Ovan Teleres, and Mister Radomil Cernak. It will survive you too.”

Pronastus smirks. “Will it survive Waldemar?”

“You’re obviously undoing that timeline,” Tinaya replies.

“Am I?”

“Oh, shit. The clones.”

“The clones,” Pronastus confirms. “They were never made by him. What would be his reasoning?”

“No, that doesn’t make any sense. You needed me to ask you to lead me to the Frontrunners for the consciousness transference technology. That’s where I found the first clone. You didn’t know about it beforehand.”

Pronastus smirks again. “I’m not in this alone. Others know where the path should go, and have known that for decades. They just didn’t know that I would be the one to take the first step in the right direction. Eight. Eight. Eight,” he says in a low and intimidating voice.

“What?”

“Eight. Eight. Eight,” Pronastus repeats. Oh, it’s a weird chant. “Eight. Eight. Eight.” It kind of sounds like hate with all that breathiness. His watch beeps. “Oh, my time is up. Don’t wanna wake up with brain damage, do I?”

“We’ve not given an answer,” Arqut tries to reason. “How exactly are you gonna force us to give the wrong one?”

“You have a time limit, remember?” Pronastus says.

“But you’re the time limit, and you’re not really dead. You have to go back in a minute or so. I doubt the Buffer will force us out. I mean, it hasn’t yet.”

“I started the clock,” Pronastus begins. “The next death will stop it. Some overlap is acceptable, but not three death events.”

“How do you know there’s gonna be another death soon?”

One last smirk. “Because I caused it, just like I caused Détha’s. Trust me, I didn’t miss anything.”

“Who did you kill?” Tinaya demands to know.

Oh, no. This is his last smirk.

“Who did you kill!”

Pronastus winks, then disappears.

“Response window expired,” a disembodied computerized voice that they don’t recognize announces. “Answer null. Prepare for IDCode purge.”

“No!” Tinaya and Arqut exclaim. “We answer yes! We answer yes!” Tinaya continues.

“Mom?” Silveon asks, having just appeared before them.

“NO!” they both repeat. Everything turns black.

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2546: Midwife

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

I am a Certified Nurse-Midwife, and the only one that this Foundation has ever seen. I have delivered every single child born of Landis, and many of the children of staff members who happened to get pregnant while they were employed, and chose our team instead of another facility. Landis makes an attempt to procreate with one of the legacy consorts once per night, which means that, on average, I deliver one baby a night. But of course, the timing doesn’t work out perfectly. Everybody is different, and every body is different. It has been known to happen that I’ve delivered two babies in one day. My busiest day was on October 7, 2023 when a perfect storm of storks arrived all at once. I’m mixing metaphors here, but I delivered six babies within a period of 24 hours. It was crazy, but an amazing experience. I’m obviously not entirely alone here. There is an obstetrician, and a host of other nurses and doctors. We’re a pretty streamlined outfit, but every mother here is very well-taken care of. Or I should say family. We take care of families here; that’s our mission. I don’t know much about the healing side of things. I’m pretty busy in the Legacy Department. I do know Landis, though. He doesn’t have the time or bandwidth to raise all of the children, and in order for it to be fair, the decision has been made that he doesn’t raise any of them. Researchers fought against this. They actually wanted there to be an imbalance, so they could measure any differences in development. But the psychological well-being of these kids is more important than their research. There are 815 of them right now, and they deserve stability and predictability, as any child would. They are each raised by a single parent, which that parent is fully aware of when she signs up for the program. She’s then reminded time and time again throughout the program that she will be on her own, except for the care that we provide as third party participants. Landis meets every one of his babies once. He holds them for 15 to 30 minutes, and then they move on with their lives. It might sound cold, but it would be impossible for him to be there for them all, and worse for him to give preferential treatment to a handful of them, or some arbitrary number. I can’t speak to his mental state, but outwardly, he has accepted this dynamic. I don’t think it’s easy, but I had nothing to do with the plan for the Legacy program. I just deliver the babies. Some of my colleagues have told me that it’s unethical, and honestly, they may be right; you’re having babies as an experiment. But I do stress to them that the children will be protected for their whole lives, and they don’t undergo tests. They don’t have their blood drawn, or receive shots, or anything that goes beyond the normal, conventional means of physical health. We had to fight the researchers on that too, but the kids aren’t lab rats. They’re people, and if they develop abilities later in life, they will come to that realization on their own, not because some lab tech sequenced their genome. I won’t have it, and I’m backed by the support of everyone at the Foundation, including Landis, as well as the mothers. Like I said, I don’t know if we should be doing this, but since we are, at least I know that we’re doing it the right way.

Microstory 2545: Obstetrician

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

I’m technically trained as an OB-GYN, but I practice obstetrics. It wasn’t always like that. For years, I worked as an Associate Physician at a private practice for years. I worked there in that capacity for a little too long, in fact. I should have been on the partner track. My boss kept telling me that he would let me buy into the practice to join them one day, but it never happened. It was a boy’s club, and probably not my best idea to apply there in the first place. But I absolutely adored my patients, so I stuck with it. Finally, I had had enough of being dismissed and sidelined. I started focusing on starting my own practice, at first while I was still employed, but then not once they found out, and fired me over it. “If you don’t wanna work here, then don’t work here!” Well, they had to pay into my unemployment insurance by not letting me quit, so who’s the loser now? Sorry, I get a little frustrated, even though I’ve left them in the dust. Starting my own practice was a huge struggle. I had trouble securing the loan, and no one in the industry wanted to work with me, because my old bosses bad-mouthed me to them. I was distraught. I didn’t know what to do. I started reapplying to other practices, but had no luck. I finally decided to just move out here to Kansas. I didn’t even have a job lined up. I kind of just threw a dart on a map, and took what looked interesting. I can’t remember the connection, but someone I knew knew someone who knew someone who blah, blah, blah. I had some six degrees of separation from Landis. They asked me to come work for them for their new legacy department. So, it’s not the same thing as actually owning your own practice, but I’m still the one who runs the place. I make all the decisions, and care for our patients the way I know they should be treated. As I said, I practice mostly obstetrics now, but that’s more of the way we frame it. Obviously, if one of my patients who had her child years ago comes to me with an issue in my department, I’m not going to turn her away. She lives here, and it’s my job to treat her. Oh, my old bosses were so upset when they found out that the Foundation picked me. They actually tried to do the same thing that they did for all the practices in my original area, in the hopes that they would be selected instead. What a bunch of jerks. They still won’t talk to me. They act like I stole their jobs. But my colleagues have my back, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t think that my patients would either.

Microstory 2544: Consort

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

I have always wanted children. My problem has always been finding someone to have them with. I just didn’t click with anyone that I dated. Well, that’s too narrow of an explanation. There was always something wrong with the relationship. He didn’t want kids, or he said he did but it was a lie, or he cheated on me, or we grew apart, or he wasn’t responsible enough. I’m not saying anything special. I broke up with my past love interests for all the same reasons that other people do. I don’t have any family, and the job I had before this was very demanding. I could have cut back on the work, but only if I had a partner to help support the family. It wouldn’t have worked out if I had chosen to go it alone. The baby would have been cared for by babysitters, daycare workers, and/or nannies. Not that there’s anything wrong with those jobs, but I wanted to be part of the baby’s life. Truthfully—and this may make me sound like a jackass—I didn’t sign up to be with Landis, or to have a kid with superpowers. I signed up for a baby, and a home to raise it in. Now I don’t work at all, and I spend my whole day taking care of my little guy. There’s a roof over our heads, and three squares a day. That’s all we need. I’m not greedy. That’s kind of a barrier for entry into this program. Unless you have a job that you can do from home, you can’t really make any money from this. We’re not even given a stipend. If you want something, you request it from the Facilitators, and they purchase it for you, using their company accounts. Again, that’s totally fine with us. These restrictions are important, not only because of their inherent value in protecting the legacies, but because they don’t want millions of people signing up. If it were as easy as requesting that they ship potential mothers a sample of Landis’ seed, everyone would want to do it. Might as well. You have to be able to come here, you have to be willing to have sex with Landis, and you have to be all right with staying put, and just being a mother. It’s not for couples. And it’s not for moms who already have kids. It’s for people like me, who want to devote their lives to raising one amazing child. Superpowers or not, I love him and we’re happy.

Microstory 2543: Consort Facilitator

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

First, I want to say that I will address the elephant in the room, but let’s just start with my background, and work our way forwards from there. I never thought that I would be doing anything like this when I first began my studies. After high school, I went to Springfield University, where I earned my undergraduate degree in social work. From there, I stayed at the same institution, where I later received my master’s in Counseling Psychology. Armed with these skills, I joined a nonprofit as a Family Planning Specialist. I met with thousands of families over the course of many years to help them understand what they wanted out of life, as well as process events of the past. There was evidently some debate when they first came up with the concept of the Legacy Department—which I named by the way; they wanted to call it Procreation. That was just a little too on the nose, and didn’t clarify the purpose of what we do here. Landis is a very special man, and many people in the world want to be a part of that. We offer some of them the chance. There are those who believe that I worked in the sex industry, and while there is nothing wrong or illegal about that, that’s not my background. Sex work coordinating jobs are all about encouraging people to have sex. That’s their business model. My job is to help people find what they want to do with their lives. And it’s not even about sex; it’s about...well, legacy. Our department is extremely discreet. We occupy the majority of the floors and their suites, currently being on seven total, which most of the staff isn’t even allowed on. Because they don’t need to be. Women find us via word of mouth. They navigate to our nondescript website, where they sign up for more information. We then initiate contact through email, moving on to more direct forms of communications like calls, video chats, and in-person interviews later. We don’t advertise, and we certainly don’t publicize the mothers, or the hopeful mothers. Before they sign up, they have all the information they need. They know that we do not pay, and they do not pay us, but we do support them throughout the whole process. They live at the hotel, and while of course they can leave at will, we encourage them to spend most of the time here, where they can be looked after and cared for. Once the child is born, its protected more strictly. We have everything that they will ever need. Our oldest child is currently four years old, and more are on their way. I must report that no child has exhibited any special abilities. I have no strong feelings on the subject, however. That is not my job. I’m here to make sure that the mothers and their babies are safe and healthy. Whether the objective is met by spreading Mr. Tipton’s ability doesn’t really matter to me. But it’s important to the women, so I make sure we do what we can to help them reach their goals. I’ve been doing it for decades, and I’m not going to stop now.

Microstory 2542: Massage Therapist

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

I have been a massage therapist for thirty-eight years. I’ve always lived in Springfield, Kansas, and the surrounding areas, working most of my career for the SKS Massage Institute. I honestly don’t know why I was picked to be Landis Tipton’s exclusive masseuse. I think what happened is that the people who run the Foundation looked at our website, and chose me due to my somewhat advanced age. It might not have specifically been because I have so much experience, but because I’m not as spry as I used to be. Well, I should say that it used to be like that. I was having trouble keeping up, and not being able to make my hours. It was hard to afford rent because I just couldn’t work that much anymore. What with my arthritis, and general aches and pains, I don’t wanna say that my clients weren’t happy, but I did notice a few of them come back, but having chosen one of the younger therapists instead this time. After I met Landis, that all changed. So it’s a little ironic that now I’m only working for one client, because I could absolutely go back to work full-time, and feel just fine. What some people may not know is that Landis does not engage his ability. His breath is able to heal anyone who happens to be in the blast radius, so to speak. By working so close to him, that happens to me all the time. I know that he works closely with other team members, like his doctor, nurse, and his assistant, but as far as physical closeness, I’m probably the winner. It’s impossible to quantify, but he has probably healed me thousands of times at this point. He has a session every evening after dinner, which is after work. Unlike a lot of my past clients, he doesn’t need it for any particular problems. He’s a healer, and naturally a self-healer, so he isn’t suffering from anything. This is all about relaxation, and stress reduction. He’s being pampered, and rightly so, and I’m a core component of that. After I’m done with him, he moves onto his night job with the legacy department. He’s been honest with me that he doesn’t love it. I mean, he enjoys it, but it feels so clinical, and he doesn’t have any strong feelings for those women. It really is a job, and that is always how they have framed it. He didn’t really want to do it, but they talked him into it, because it’s one way he can change the world. With me, he wasn’t reluctant. Evidently, he used to get a lot of massages before all this, and appreciates being able to have one every day. I want to be clear about one thing, and then I won’t say anything more about it. I am a professional, and I have a professional relationship with my client, as I have throughout my entire career, with every single one of my clients. Even if I did ever do that sort of thing that’s running through your head, Landis wouldn’t need it, because of his second job. In fact, it would place that program in danger. Anyway, I count myself lucky that my job is so easy. I have lots of hobbies, and they mostly work great indoors. I like to knit and do other arts and crafts. They actually assigned me two separate suites, right next door to each other, almost all to myself. The second bedroom of my sleeping unit is a craft room, and the other room in my work unit is actually where the psychological therapist works with Landis, who is her one client too. It’s the Therapy Suite, as we call it. It makes sense to us to put them together like that. Saves time.

Microstory 2536: Executive Assistant

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

They call Landis’ nurse his left-hand woman, and that’s because I’m his right-hand woman. That’s really only because I literally always stand on his right side. His left arm has better veins for drawing blood, so that’s his “medical side”. Though, they sometimes come over to my side of his body, because they need to test things like, is his blood different in his other arm? No, it’s not, by the way. As I was trying to explain, I was an assistant for three years before I landed this job. It was difficult and trying. My boss was great, but she was very demanding. She had high expectations of me, but she earned that right by building herself up from just about nothing. I figured that working for the Foundation would be a new challenge, but it’s really pretty cushy. He doesn’t exactly need me to do anything for him. His schedule is the same every day. He goes to bed by 21:30 so he can get up at 05:30 for breakfast before work at 06:00. He usually takes his half-hour lunch at 11:00. It’s his main meal, and it’s always pretty big. It’s prepared by a world-class chef whose only job is this. After his afternoon/evening healing shift is over at 18:30, he has a therapy session, which usually goes alongside his dinner. It’s much lighter than his lunch, which is important, because he then has an hour-long massage therapy session starting at 19:30. This wasn’t his idea by the way, it was prescribed to him by his doctor, who was afraid Landis would not be able to relax. He doesn’t enjoy any other relaxing hobbies, so it was kind of something they had to come up with to help. This next part is a little tricky, so let me try to keep it classy.

After the massage, Landis takes a quick shower, and then meets with a woman for about a half hour, including some light conversation. It’s a different woman every night, as coordinated by the Legacy department. This woman is virile, and of course healthy—but it’s important to note that she is typically naturally healthy. They arrange it differently sometimes for comparative experimentation, but for the most part, we’re talking about a young woman in her prime mothering years who has not undergone the healing breath treatment herself. That is what she is looking for. While the pharmaceutical company is researching paths to the panacea, an alternative program seeks to potentially expand production of the cures by simply spreading it throughout the population. Not every pregnancy takes, but all told, Landis has fathered, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......about 800 children. Woof, that’s kind of something that we don’t really talk about. Part of the funding that we receive goes into supporting these families for the rest of their lives. As of yet, no child has exhibited any special abilities, but the oldest one isn’t even five years old yet, so they’re not taking that as proof that it doesn’t work. The program continues. When I first met Landis, he was chill and funny. He liked to talk, and be around people. This experience has changed him, and while most seem to attribute his turtle-shelling to the burden of the healings, I believe the daily expectation of procreation has affected him more than anything. He likes women. He likes sex. And it’s all consensual. But it still heightens his anxiety. He still considers it part of his job. On the one hand, that makes it easier to detach himself, and simply perform. On the other hand, is that psycho-emotionally healthy? I don’t know. I really don’t. But I’m here for him every day, and if he were to ever express doubt in continuing either of his jobs, I would be the first to know. I won’t let him do anything he’s not comfortable with, even if it’s something that he’s done a thousand times before.

Microstory 2525: Rich Patient

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

I am no stranger to charity. I have always been on this side of it. I was born into a wealthy family of business moguls. I can’t tell you exactly what our family does, because we have our hands in a lot of different cookie jars. My ancestors liked to invest in ideas, and they were very good at telling the difference between the great ones and the stinkers. Most people in my family have kept the tradition alive, and invest in whatever they think will be the most profitable. They are not saints, but I wouldn’t call them evil either. We didn’t make our money on great instincts alone. Research is the name of the game, and we pride ourselves in supporting ethical and sustainable companies over get-rich-quick schemes that some of our contemporaries are involved in. You’ll notice, I sometimes separate myself from my family, and sometimes lump myself in with them. The truth is that I’ve never been that interested in this kind of work. It’s oh so boring. I like that we do research, but I don’t like to do it myself, so to maintain the integrity of our practices, I have simply chosen to opt out. I’m lucky to have parents who allowed me to do this, and did not insist on me following in their footsteps. They actually had a lot of children for this reason. It might sound so calculated, but really, they were just practical. Instead of having one kid, and hoping they turned out exactly how they dreamed, they played the odds. They knew that the chances of one of us being like them went up the more they had. It ended up only being four, so don’t think they went crazy, or anything, and lucky them, three of them are all in. It’s really only I who chose a different path. I’m not entirely removed. I’m entitled to a trust fund, just as my siblings are, which I use to support my philanthropic endeavors. And you know what? My siblings do the same, but in their own way. They don’t wanna have to judge people, and determine what kind of charity they deserve, or how much, so they just give me the money, and I donate accordingly on their behalf. It’s a truly symbiotic relationship. I’m still quite a bit different than them. I open my own car doors, which my chauffeur keeps forgetting, and I raised my own kids with no help beyond my husband, and a few babysitters here and there. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with a condition called Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. That first word means that they don’t know what caused it. So it’s no one’s fault. I have had it all this time while the Foundation was running, but I hesitated to apply for a healing. I’ve never called myself old, but I’m no spring chicken either. I honestly could have died at any time while I pursued typical treatment. I just didn’t want to butt in. So many other people needed help, and I didn’t want to take anyone’s slot. I admire Landis for developing a fair system that didn’t prioritize people like me, but it still felt so icky. Then something changed. I had grandchildren. Two twin girls. I decided that I wasn’t just fighting for my life, but for the time I could spend with them. So I applied, and got my healing. I don’t know how long I would have survived without it, but...not long. I was likely weeks away from expiring. Did you know, because of all of my charitable donations, they wanted to classify me as a no-pay? I wouldn’t have it. It goes against my entire being. I insisted they recategorize me for pay-up, so I could contribute my fair share. I didn’t give them all my money, since I need to leave some for my family when I finally do die, but I think I helped keep the lights on for a few more days. It’s the least I could do.

Microstory 2514: Staff Supervisor

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

I was one of the first people who Landis and the Director hired after all the contract work retrofitting the hotel was finished. He figured, if you’re going to start hiring people, you better find someone with experience doing that, so they can handle it for you. Prior to this job, I had eight years under my belt working in Staff Services at various organizations. I wouldn’t have called myself the best of the best, and that’s what Landis was looking for, I think. He was working with a tight budget, so he couldn’t waste all his seed money on someone who would demand mid-six figures. Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I was doing. He gave me a list of positions he thought that we would need to work the Foundation, I added to it, we collaborated, and I worked to fill out the staff. Unlike a lot of other startups, we kind of needed a full staff right away. We couldn’t just start with a few people, and grow our business gradually. As soon as the public even caught a wisp of a hint that there might be someone in Kansas who could possibly even plausibly come anywhere close to alleviating their conditions even just a little bit, we knew that they would arrive here in droves for help. We needed people to coordinate all the visitors, to manage all the finances, to care for the patients, to support Landis directly, to maintain the facilities, and to reach out to the community. We’ve added a few brand new positions since then, like the Research Liaison, and everyone in the Legacy Department, but for the most part, we had a solid idea of what today would look like. Yeah, I’m just looking at our old notes, and we were pretty spot on. We did the math, and determined how many people Landis could heal in one day, which gave us the number of workers we needed to keep track of them, and we’ve not had to go too far beyond that. This is the best job I’ve ever had, because I actually feel like I’m making a difference in the world. I count myself lucky to be on board, and I think pretty much everyone here would say the same thing. It’s my job to know these things. If someone were having a problem, I would know about it.

Microstory 2512: Very First Patient

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

It’s true, I was Mr. Tipton’s very first patient, though no one used that term at the time. My company suffered a major blow when the truth came out that I was suffering from a terminal disease. Stock prices plummeted, and the board was worried that we would ultimately have to shut down. I wasn’t desperate, though. I was never desperate. I designed my company to operate without me, and I’ve never thought of it as being my responsibility, and mine alone. The market failed to understand my vision for a collaborative future, but they would have come to know the truth in time, and the company would have bounced back. Still. It’s not like I wanted to die. I spoke with all the experts, and tried all the reasonable experimental treatments. Nothing was working, but I’m an old man, and we all die eventually. I was understandably skeptical when these two young men approached me with the claim that they could cure me for good. But I listened to them, because I was intrigued, and I didn’t think it would do any harm. After a brief demonstration that involved Mr. Tipton’s associate stabbing himself in the arm, they only asked for $5,000 as a sort of down payment. Clearly, either they were master magicians, or it was true that Mr. Tipton could heal people, but he didn’t want to ask for all the money up front. Not to brag, but $5,000 was nothing to me. I decided that if this was all just some big scam, then these two deserved to be paid for being able to fool me, so I gladly paid it. They said, once my medical professionals proved that I was entirely disease-free, I could pay the remaining $10 million. I ended up giving them 15. Since it turned out to not be a scam at all, I felt like they definitely deserved the money. Compared to dying in a few months, I call that a bargain. Many believe that I am a silent partner in the Foundation, but I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t investing in their future; it was just a straight payment. What they did with the money was none of my business. I’m pleased with their choice. They could have just as easily shot through to a beach resort, and gave the rest of us the middle finger, but they stuck around, and put in the hard work. So many more have benefited the way that I have, and even more will, if rumors of the panacea are even vaguely accurate. I’m proud to call myself the very first patient. That’s something that will always make me special. When I do finally leave this planet, my legacy will outlive me, thanks to one boy’s choice to include me in the very early days of his incredibly ambitious plan to heal the whole world.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 6, 2519

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

The honeymoon was going well. After horsing around in Mud World: World of Mud for a little while, Mateo, Leona, and Olimpia spent the night in the Sovereign Suite of the Palacium Hotel, which was pretty much the most extravagant, opulent place to stay on the planet. Hrockas actually booked it for them for more than a year, so they could sleep across midnight central, and not worry about anyone having used it during their interim year. It was too much, and completely unnecessary, but he insisted. While it was luxurious and beautiful, people really didn’t need such things these days. They mostly came for the fun and adventure, and to do things that they could not do anywhere else. The majority of the residential dwellings were functional and unremarkable, because it wasn’t a big draw for anyone, and there were plenty of nice places to live on other planets.

They were currently hanging out in State of the Art, standing on the shoulder of one of the gargantuan statues that towered over the skyline. Visitors couldn’t typically climb this high up, but teleporters didn’t share such limitations. They were trying to figure out what they were going to do next. The others on the team were right. They needed this, and if they would deign to admit it to themselves, they deserved it too.

“Adrenadome?” Olimpia suggested. They were each looking through the catalog, and tossing out ideas.

“I don’t want to shift substrates,” Leona said. “Nothing life-threatning.”

Olimpia clicked her teeth as she began to swipe away the options she had bookmarked one by one.

“We should just go to Polar Tropica,” Mateo said for the umpteenth time.

“That’s so basic,” Olimpia contended. “Are we basic?”

“Well, I suggested we try the Outer System space battle simulations, but no one wanted anything violent,” Mateo reminded her.

“Still don’t,” Leona confirmed. “Whoa,” she added, looking down at her forearm output.

“What? Something juicy?” Olimpia asked, trying to look over at her readout.

Leona read the message out loud, “you have been browsing the catalog for a while now. Still having trouble deciding? Tap here for a random suggestion, which will come from your preference algorithm. If you linked your profile with nearby friends, this suggestion will be sourced from their interest surveys as well.”

“Tap on that thang!” Mateo said.

Leona shrugged and tapped on the button. A new message popped up that read, temporal signatures detected. Rerouting. Instead of just producing the answer, they were automatically teleported elsewhere.

They found themselves standing next to a wooden wall. It wasn’t cleanly cut, but looked more like bark. The air was foggy and unbreathable. A heavy rain was falling upon them. They activated their EmergentSuits, and continued to look around. “Wow. That could have killed us,” Olimpia said.

“Must be an experimental feature,” Leona mused. “Jesimula Utkin suggested it at a meeting once. Hrockas wasn’t so sure, because he didn’t know how to distinguish time travelers from regular people. I guess they think they figured it out.”

“Not really,” Mateo contended. “The air is toxic. Unless it also knew that we had suits on, I guess.”

“It’s only toxic for us,” Leona agreed. She ran her hand over the wood wall. She reached over to her arm screen, and flicked the data over to her heads up display, which was an easier way to read when her helmet was on. “Derudome. It houses The World Tree, along with thousands of others, but this one is set to reach the top of the dome, and be three kilometers in diameter.”

“So, it’s not a wall,” Mateo stated the obvious.

“No. This isn’t even in the catalog yet,” Leona went on. “I can only see the prospectus because we’re already in the dome, and the satnav found an otherwise hidden link, but it isn’t open to visitors.”

“First!” Mateo shouted playfully.

“Hey, Thistle,” Leona began. “Erase the fog and rain through multispectral imaging. Show us the tree alone.”

The image on their HUDs changed. The fog still had them enveloped, and they could still hear the pitter-patter of rainwater on their suits, but they could now see what the tree would look like on a clear day. It was a magnificent sight to behold. People were really going to love it. Leona was in just as much awe of it, but was also running calculations through her head. How could such a thing be possible? How did it grow so fast? Did Hrockas use time tech? Or had he been working on this longer than she realized? No, even if it was the absolute first dome he started working on, the tree could not be at full height in this short amount of time. And if time tech were involved, he likely would have conscripted Ramses to make it happen.

Leona refocused her vision to the HUD text. “There’s more. It has a planned release date of...” She trailed off.

“When?” Mateo prompted.

“Year 2900,” she said.

“Whew, that’s the long-game,” Olimpia pointed out.

“Wait. Why wait?” Leona questioned. “Thistle, what are the current dimensions?”

“Nearly eight kilometers tall, with a diameter of two-point-four-two kilometers.”

“Yeah, it’s just not ready yet,” Leona determined. “The math is tight, but the rate of growth doesn’t break the laws of physics in a highly controlled environment such as this one.”

Someone else wearing an environmental suit walked up from a couple of meters away, letting themselves appear in the honeymooners’ sightlines without speaking or jumpscaring them first. Whoever it was, their visor was opaque. They held one hand towards Olimpia while the other hand was underneath their own chin. Both palms were face up. They drew both hands together until one was on top of the other, then turned them so both palms were face down. They then extended their hands back to the original positions, except with the hands switched. This was the universal sign for open up radio communications on a hailing frequency.

Leona did as she was asked. “Hello?”

“Sorry, my visor is broken,” Hrockas’ voice came through. “I refuse to wear an IMS on this planet on principle as the whole premise is that it’s infinitely survivable. I didn’t realize the helmet didn’t work right until it was already on.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Mateo asked him.

“I have a teleporter belt,” Hrockas replied. “Ramses built one for me. It needs constant charging, but it makes my daily life easier. Is he here?”

“Just the three of us,” Olimpia promised.

“Good. Not that I wouldn’t want him here. Well, I don’t plan on any of you being here. It’s just that I was worried about my lifesign sensors, but it appears they captured all visitors. You really aren’t meant to be here, though.”

“The auto random selector dispatched us here,” Leona explained.

“Oooooooohh, I forgot about that. It should not have been activated. I’ll have a talk with Jesi’s friend about it. I put the project on hold indefinitely.”

“Fair enough,” Mateo said. “We’re sorry to have imposed.”

“No, it’s okay, you three are fine,” Hrockas insisted. “I just need to include it when we update the security protocols.” He looked up at the tree. He likely couldn’t see it in all its glory, however, as the fog would be blocking most of the view. “Wady’all think?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Leona said. “We were looking for a place to spend some of our honeymoon. This place checks a lot of boxes. I like ecologies. Mateo likes water. Olimpia likes dangerous or toxic environments.”

Hrockas chuckled. “The air is saturated with carbon dioxide. Makes them grow faster.”

“So there are other trees here?” Olimpia pressed.

“Oh, yeah, it’ll be a whole forest when it’s done,” Hrockas said as he turned at the waist to indicate the area in general. “Land for giants, but not with giants. I’ll leave that to Gulliver’s World.”

“Thanks for letting us see it,” Leona said graciously. “I’m sure we’ll be back in about four hundred days, when it’s finally open to the public.”

Hrockas chuckled again. “You can stay as long as you want. The fog makes it hard to see, but hey, if you’re into that, as well as danger, you could always try Foggy Forest.”

“Thanks. After my time in Bloodbourne,” Mateo said, “I’ve decided to stay away from the intentionally scary or unsettling ones.”

“I understand. Have a good rest of your honeymoon.” Hrockas tried to tug on a pull actuator, and flip a switch on his shoulder. “Oh, shit. My teleporter’s drained again.”

“Here.” Mateo approached. “Let me take you to Treasure Hunting Dome, so Ramses can fix it for you. It shouldn’t drain that fast.”

“No, I’ve been using it all day. I really just need to be careful with it.”

“Well, I’ll make him give you a second one to use during charge cycles, or hell, a third.” Mateo took hold of Hrockas and took them both away. Leona and Olimpia followed.

They were standing in the antechamber to Ramses’ new lab, which he built when he was stuck in the past for a year. After they went through decontamination, the three EmergentSuit wearers receded their nanites, and stepped into the lab. While Olimpia was helping Hrockas remove his bulky suit, Mateo approached Ramses. Something caught his eye, though. He looked over at a gestational pod, which Romana was floating inside of. He fumed. “What happened to my daughter?”

“She’s fine,” Ramses said. “She’s taking a nap. That’s not your daughter. It’s a new substrate for her.”

“Why would she need a new substrate?” Mateo questioned.

“The retroverters,” Ramses began to explain. “They’re not proverters too. Romana asked me to give her an upgrade instead of waiting for time to age her back up.”

“We can find her a proverter somewhere else,” Mateo reasoned.

“That’s not what she wants. You should talk to her.”

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“Yeah, when you got back. Why are you back so early?”

“It was just a quick detour in between adventures. Now I worry I should stay, or you’ll do something drastic.”

“Mateo. We were going to tell you. We just wanted you to relax first. Don’t make this into a thing.”

“Well, you’ve obviously been working on it for a long time now. She only looks as old as the real Romana does right now.”

“That is on an accelerated timescale,” Ramses clarified.

“I thought that wasn’t safe or stable.”

“I mean, the clone is in a time bubble. Or it usually is, while I’m not here. It’s developing at a normal rate, but from our perspective, it’s sped up. I shut off the temporal field this morning so I could run diagnostics, and make any adjustments necessary...which there aren’t any.”

This made Mateo even more frustrated. “Why can’t you just do that for Romana herself, keeping her in her original body?”

Ramses shook his head. “You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be, so stop asking stupid questions. It wouldn’t work for a conscious individual. She would go insane, trapped in the pod for ten plus years. God!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mediator Leona said, stepping in. “Ramses, don’t be mean. Not everyone is as smart as you, and I know you get annoyed, but you need to keep control of how you speak to others. What might seem like a dumb question to you could sound perfectly reasonable to anyone else.” She too was a genius, but a part of her wasn’t. She recalled a timeline where she majored in Film Studies in college. This gave her a rare ability to straddle both worlds, and be empathetic to all. “Mateo, Romana is an adult, and this decision was inevitable. Look around. Nobody on this planet is a regular mortal being. Some people refused transhumanistic upgrades once they became available, and you know what happened to them? They died. Because that’s literally what they wanted. Their race has all but died out at this point, because fewer in each generation choose to stay as they were when they were born.”

“I know,” Mateo responded. “Intellectually, I know. I just can’t help but see her as my little girl. I never got to raise her. I think I would give her all the room in the universe if I watched her grow up, making small decisions on her own at first, before working her way up to the life-changing ones.”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t fair for you, but at the same time, it’s not fair of you to expect her to let you treat her as a child.”

Mateo said. “I know that too.”

“This wasn’t a rash decision,” little Romana said from the doorway. “I always wanted to be like you. My whole life, I’ve wanted to be like you. I grew up with stories. This...Ashvin thing was just the catalyst that pushed me to finally go through with it. I want this.”

“It’ll be ready in a couple days,” Ramses said.

“Did you hear that, dad? Plenty of time to go back to your honeymoon. I promise, when you return, I’ll still look like a child. I won’t transfer without you present.”

Mateo nodded. “Okay.”

When Mateo showed up the next day, still in the middle of the honeymoon, Romana no longer looked like a kid. She didn’t look like herself at all.

« < » > Table of Contents

Extremus: Year 107

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

Tinaya decided to not tell Arqut, Silveon, or Audrey about the post-death asteroid that could be waiting for them once they finally leave the ship at the end of their first life. It isn’t something they need to be worried about for now. They still don’t talk to Audrey a whole lot, because it’s riskier than ever, but not impossible. Waldemar isn’t the least bit suspicious, and he’s not all that possessive. He sees Audrey and his friends as props. He really doesn’t care what these props do when they’re not busy making him look like a normal, well-adjusted person fit for leadership. While he ended up announcing his engagement instead of declaring his intentions to restore the civilian Chair system, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t plan on doing that eventually. He holds secret meetings all the time, with all sorts of people, some of whom have obvious political connections on this ship, others who seem unremarkable and inconsequential.

They don’t have time to worry about that today, and won’t for a good long while. Everyone else has become quite preoccupied with the upcoming event.  It’s the halfway mark. The thing to remember about this mission is that the outcome is, by definition, unknown. No one has ventured out to space this far, and they have definitely not gone as far as Extremus eventually will. The mystery is part of the experience, which they all hope their descendants will appreciate, and not resent them for it. The idea of it taking 216 years has always been more of an estimate than anything. There is no clear boundary forming the edge of the galaxy. The galactic halo alone makes it undefined, and with there being plenty of stars in the intergalactic voids anyway, there really is no standard scope of the Milky Way. Someone—no one seems to remember who—supposedly chose the duration to be 216 years simply because they liked the number. It’s impossible to verify that since the figure predates any serious discussion their ancestors made regarding the Extremus mission itself. It wasn’t like some fabled “founder” stood before the cameras, and unveiled a fully baked idea to travel across the galaxy. People started murmuring about it first, with different concepts being bounced around until landing on this one. It was a years-long process.

So basically, July 17, 2378 is only halfway between their starting date and their ending date because they had to make some sort of plan, even if it was always going to be subject to change. It definitely will change, because statistically speaking, there is almost no way that their 215th anniversary rolls around, and they happen to find a viable planet on that very day. Which is okay, because there is also no way that they let this nebulousness stop them from celebrating. Not even the Bridger section knows what happens at the end of the target deadline. It’s written into the charter that no one possesses knowledge about the future that far in advance. They could have hypothetically asked a seer to warn them of how things would turn out, and craft their plans meticulously to account for every eventuality, but that would have gone against the spirit of the endeavor. They don’t want to know what they’ll find, because then what’s the point of looking for it?

They’re arguing. Well, Tinaya isn’t arguing. The council members are arguing with each other while she, Lataran, and Oceanus sit in silence. Their first issue? The theme. What will the theme of the party be? Well, hopefully nothing, because that’s a little childish. Plus, there is no single area on this ship where every passenger and crewmember can congregate. The Attic Forest might be big enough, but there are hills, trees, and other vegetation blocking views, so it’s not a great place if you want to have some kind of presentation or performance. Plus, Tinaya really doesn’t want all those people in her forest all at once, trashing the place. There will be multiple gatherings, some happening at the same time, some happening on different dates. The exact date of July 17 is important, but they’ll be doing things in the weeks leading up to it, and probably after it too. The council will decide on some of them, but passengers can party whenever they want, for pretty much any reason, so other events will be unaffiliated.

Oceanus has clearly grown weary of all this back and forth, but the expression on his face isn’t enough to clarify what’s going on in his head. Not even when he blurts out; “a committee!”

“What?” Councilman Linwood questions.

“Why are you handling this?” Oceanus questions. “You’re the council for the ship, made up of crew and civilian policymakers. You have important business to attend to. Why are you wasting your time on a party?” Hm. It’s not just about the pointlessness of this particular debate.

There is silence for a moment. “You may leave if you wish, Captain,” Head Councillor Spalden says to him. “This is not a mandatory meeting.”

“It’s not just me,” Oceanus begins. “Yes, I’m too busy for this, but what I’m trying to tell you is that you are as well. I’m not saying that members of the council can’t also be part of the party planning committee, or whatever you wanna call it, but it should not be taking up all of your time. This is a different subject of discussion, and therefore requires different voices. Let’s open it up, and invite others to join. Meanwhile, you can move on to more crucial concerns.”

“Would you want to be on it?” Spalden asks.

“Absolutely not,” Oceanus retorts. “I don’t care.” He gives the side eye to Tinaya and Lataran. “The war is my current worry.” The Admirals are aware that there is a war against the Exin Empire, and that it is being fought by the Verdemusians, in whatever capacity they are able. They are not, however, privy to current operational details. It’s not technically relevant to the ship, and more of a diplomatic problem, so they don’t need to know. It sounds like something happened, or is happening, which has Captain Jennings anxious. They’re both curious to learn what that might be, but not entitled to any such answers. “With all due respect,” he adds.

“We recognize, appreciate, and understand the duties of the Captain,” Spalden says, “which is why I invited you to leave, and return to your post. There will be no hard feelings here. The Halfway Party is vital to keeping passengers enthusiastic about our mission, and to pass this enthusiasm down to the next generations. It is not frivolous. It is not irrelevant. It is vital to our survival as a people, and for that reason, I must insist on maintaining our commitment to the matter. Thank you very much.”

“He’s not saying that it’s not important,” Councilwoman Flowers defends. “He’s not even saying that we shouldn’t have any input. He’s arguing that we were elected to manage the safe, secure, and prosperous transportation of our passengers across the galaxy. Our obligation to them covers all matters, as well as ship morale. As morale is but a subset of our duties, perhaps a more focused committee is in order. Not only do we have other issues to deal with, but including people who are not on the council in the decision-making process would actually aid in our endeavor to boost ship morale itself.”

Head Councillor Spalden squirms in his seat. It’s becoming apparent that the issue is not that he wants the council to be solely in charge of it. It’s that he wants to personally be in charge of it.

Tinaya stands. “I move for the creation of an official Party Planning Committee, to be responsible for the Halfway Celebration, as well as any other state-sponsored festivities, which may be conceived of in the future. I would like to include in this motion a provision that Head Councillor Spalden be installed as the first Premier Facilitator of the PPC...final name to be determined by the selected Premier Facilitator.”

“Seconded,” Lataran says.

As Head Councillor Spalden is being called in this motion, he is unable to be involved in any way. He can’t even be present for a vote. Councilman Linwood stands. “Motion is engaged. All other business on the agenda are tabled until further notice. Discussion on new order will be open as soon as Head Councillor Spalden excuses himself.”

Spalden stands, and holds back his excitement. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. They’re all picking up on how he feels, and there’s little chance that they won’t let him do it. Oceanus isn’t the only one who doesn’t care what happens to the celebrations; he’s just the only one in a position to vocalize his apathy.

As Spalden is leaving, Councilman Linwood turns his attention to Tinaya and Lataran. “Admirals, as non-voting members, please excuse yourselves as well.”

Lataran points finger guns at him, winks, and clicks her tongue just before she disappears.

Tinaya nods at the council. “With respect to the Dais,” she says, which is the right way to leave these chambers. She walks out manually.

Lataran didn’t teleport too far. She’s waiting for Tinaya on the other side of the doors. “Anything interesting happen after I left?” she jokes.

“I’ve not asked in a while. How’s Sable?” Tinaya asks as they start walking down the corridor together.

“She’s good. Knows what she wants to do with her life already.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m glad we were able to get out of that meeting early, because there’s something you should see, and earlier is better than later.”

“Okay...”

They continue to walk instead of jumping right to their destination. It’s apparently not all that urgent. Lataran exudes a sense of calm and reserved excitement, rather than anxiety or fear. This thing that she wants Tinaya to see must not be bad. That still doesn’t tell her what it could possibly be, though. They take the elevator all the way up to the top level. It’s evidently something in the Attic Forest. Lataran continues to lead her between the trees and bushes until they can see a group of children. Sable is one of them, but Tinaya doesn’t know any others since her own son has aged out of this demographic.

“This is her Enrichment class,” Lataran explains. Enrichment is a vital component of children’s education. It typically includes studies that are not, strictly speaking, necessary for the continuation of the mission. No science, no engineering, no Earth studies. It’s about art, music, and other creative activities. It’s a generic term at this age. If a student decides to pursue a career in one of these fields, the course options will narrow later on.

One of the kids notices that the Admirals have arrived, and starts spreading the news. They were standing in random spots before, but now clump together in a vaguely orderly fashion. Off to the side, a white sheet hangs over the trail between two trees, which is perhaps ready for an image to be projected upon it? Once Tinaya and Lataran step fully into the clearing, the performance begins. In their best attempt at unison, they cry, “thank you, Admiral Leithe!” They then sing a song, which seems to be wholly original. It’s not a literal interpretation about the past, but is essentially about a cold, lifeless ship being turned into a lush garden full of joy and calm, where all the children can laugh and play. It’s about the forest. It’s about her.

After the song is over, seven-year-old Sable separates herself from the group, clearly intentionally, and as rehearsed. She reaches up and tries to take hold of the corner of the white sheet, but she’s too short. “The stool!” she complains, looking around on the ground. In lieu of looking for the stool, one of the older boys picks her up by the waist so she can get the sheet. She pulls it off of the hook, and lets it drop. On the other side is a garden. Of course there’s vegetation all around, but this is a distinct section, surrounded by stone pavers. The flowers planted here are some of the most vibrant and delicate, such as zinnias, carnations, and blue alyssum. There’s a small water fixture on a small retaining wall. The water splashes into a tiny pond, which spills over the edge of the lower retaining wall, and into a tiny creek that disappears around the corner.

Tinaya tears up when she notices one last thing. On a wooden sign on a wooden post are the words, Leithe Gardens.

“They’ve been working on this for months,” Lataran explains. “Sable only fessed up when I grilled her for coming home late two weeks ago.”

“Oh, boys and girls,” Tinaya says. “Thank you. This is so sweet of you.” It’s nice, after all this heartache—with Waldemar, and baby Silvia, and just everything—to see something so pure and delightful. As a leader, she’s had to endure all too much danger and drama. It’s great to be reminded that life is about happiness, and they’re flying through the black in the search of that; not war or political intrigue. The thought and care that went into creating this masterpiece shows that it is possible to find harmony, and to build a society based on love and community.

« < » > Table of Contents